No Grave
by CatastropheOfEquilibrium
Summary: He hadn't had a coherent thought in days though, the last one he could recall was "Peter was the Secret-Keeper". His world descended into black, whether it was from the stunners or the apparition of the witch who's small fingers wrapped around his bicep and pulled him from the disaster that remained in that London street. Time Travel AU. One-shot.


**_Crawl_**

**So this a short one shot that I've had for my head for years. I wrote this in a day so it might not be as fleshed out as I want it to be. This is kind of just reintroducing me into writing again.**

**This is a time travel AU. Very vaguely presented. It does take place after the Potter's deaths, and is centered around Hermione x Sirius. For now this is a one shot, it could go into a two shot focusing more on their relationship. I might up load more chapters to this like drabbles (so not the same story or pairings), let me know if that's something you're interested in. I do have other ideas floating in my head.**

—

_(three days on a drunken sin)_

He could feel it crawl between the cavities in his chest, the guilt and anger dragging its claws into his abdomen. Meanwhile his heart thudded with the hollow nothingness of agony, it's misplaced weight throwing his balance to the wind.

If he thought about it hard enough it was probably the firewhiskey that made his steps unstable.

He hadn't had a coherent thought in days though, the last one he could recall was "_Peter was the Secret-Keeper_". Everything else dissolved from there. It was only glimpses of James and Lily's faces, and sweet little Harry's hand wrapped around Sirius's pinky finger. Peter's oddly eager face when asked to be the Potter's Secret-Keeper, his cornflower blue eyes slick with happiness. Sirius should have known at that moment. Peter had never been particularly courageous to fight in the war like James and himself. So why didn't he hesitate at being placed in the center of it by being trusted to conceal the war's main players?

Of course Sirius knew the reason now. It made his throat constrict, his jaw clench, and his eyes water. How could he have been so blinded? He hadn't trusted Remus despite knowing him just as long as Peter. Why didn't he question Peter's allegiance as well?

It was too late for that now.

It didn't stop the guilt from burrowing into his soul.

So Sirius dragged himself from the wizarding world. He knew everything would be thrown into disarray, his loyalty questioned and condemned. After all they had told no one of the plan to make Peter the Secret-Keeper, not even Dumbledore. Of course his disappearance would be taken for confirmation of him being the one that betrayed the Potter family, but he had to avenge James and Lily — that couldn't be done from inside a holding cell while Aurors or The Order questioned him.

Muggle London knew nothing of the notorious Sirius Black, and certainly wouldn't question a man stumbling and taking long pulls from a flask at 11:45 pm in the heart of London's punk scene. They might question the tight fitting black robes that were thrown over his muggle clothes, but thankfully muggle fashion was particularly forgiving to the outrageous in this decade.

So he made his way through the young bar-goers, neon lights hazing in and out of his peripherals as the loud music vibrated in his skull. He knew Peter would flee from the wizarding world even if he wasn't suspected, he was too scared to remain in one place for long. And he knew that Sirius knew the truth, and that he'd hunt Peter down the moment the word of the Potter's deaths reached Sirius. Peter was very much correct in that regard. He'd been hunting down Peter through muggle London for three days now. So far it has led him from the city to the outskirts of the Thames, and back to the part of the city where he found himself now.

He was able to recognize Peter's fearful scent anywhere now, along with the coward's magical signature. That was why he didn't hesitate casting a quick _Homenum Revelio_ near a bar's side entrance along with a rapid Stunner that sizzled madly into the establishment's bricks as a hay colored mop of hair ducked away with a frightened squeak. The fog in Sirius's brain filtered away as anger and adrenaline spiked through his body, his bloodshot eyes landing on Peter Pettigrew as the coward fumbled with his wand as he backpedaled towards the street.

"S-Sirius! You- They tortured me for information! That's it! You knew I'd break, you shouldn't hav-" A jet of red hissed passed Pettigrew's ear, before dissipating into the metal of a nearby lamppost that's light flickered out, plunging half of Peter's scared face into darkness. The shield that weakly shimmered around Peter deflected the next three stunners that Sirius sent, but not the sickly purple slicing hex that caught Peter's hand. The pained yowl served to disguise the curious and fearful sounds of the muggles that had trickled into the street that heard the commotion beneath the din of bar music.

Sirius could only focus on Peter's slack jaw face and wide wet blue eyes, the rings on his hand biting harshly into his fingers from how hard he was gripping his wand. The sound of blood thrummed in his ears as he opened his mouth again, his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth as he started to sprout off another hate filled stunner.

"Siriu-!"

"_BOMBARDA_ _MAXIMA"_

The ringing in Sirius's ears did nothing to disguise the several blood curdling screams of the Muggles behind him, nor the multiple distinct pops of wizarding Aurors. The rubble and dust thrown up by Peter's bombarda scratched its way into his lungs as his side throbbed with pain from where the spell sizzled past him. The bright flashes of red from the Aurors' Stunners aimed at him did nothing to peel his eyes from Peter's form morphing into his rodent animagus and fleeing. That was the last thing he saw before his world descended into black, whether it was from the stunners or the apparition of the witch who's small fingers wrapped around his bicep and pulled him from the disaster that remained in that London street.

—

_(dreamed her)_

The tug of the smooth metal of his rings registered vaguely in his mind. Their soft clatter against a wooden surface rattled dully in his ears as his hand slipped from a smaller, softer hand onto the bare plain of his stomach.

He could feel the soft drop of liquid onto his left side, his mind acknowledging the sting of a potion cleaning and beginning to stitch together a wound but too tired to move like his nerve endings wanted him to.

Sirius felt as if the air around him was sweltering and humid. It settled into his skin like a thick blanket, weighing his body down heavily.

His eyes flickered open enough to register curls darker than his splayed out above him in a vision. Deep honey colored eyes gazed back at him, focused and pupils blown wide with worry.

He had thought a lot about the afterlife in his alone time, usually with a bottle of firewhiskey, after joining The Order.

He never gave much thought to death being a pretty bird with captivating eyes.

The next time he woke enough to register anything, there was a damp cold cloth being pressed against his forehead. It was dragged softly down his temples and onto the cut of his cheekbones before being carefully swept across his closed eyelids.

He tried to move his body, at least moving his bloody toes would be enough for him at this point. His body once again refused to cooperate, instead it continued to lay slack and heavy. He wondered if death always took this long. And if it always had this gentle of a touch.

The final time he was coherent enough for reality did he realize he could finally move his body. It no longer felt heavy, sluggish maybe but still movable. The smooth polish of his wand was laid gently in his palm, the familiar weight soothing his nerves.

The subtle creek of hardwood drifted to his ears. He forced his body to stay relaxed, his eyes swiveling underneath his eyelids to where the sound registered. His chest shifted calmly to encompass the deep breaths of someone wrapped warmly in the arms of sleep. The wood floors sounded again as body weight shifted against them, the soft scrape of bare feet coming closer and closer to his side. By now he could hear the gentle puff of air that accompanied his breathing as a presence hovered over him.

In the next moment his bare feet were firmly planted on an old hardwood floor, his left hand wrapped firmly against a throat to quickly maneuver the figure to be pressed into the bed where his body was only a few seconds before. His left side smarted, the feeling of new skin being pulled taut. Sirius steadily ignored the twinge and instead tightened his right hand on his wand that was pressed into an angular jawline.

It took him a few moments to catalogue that the person beneath his hold was slack. There was no resistance against his pressure. Instead deep eyes watched him patiently, peering out from an admittedly pale bloodless face with parted lips. He scanned the figure once again, finding that her wand was slotted against her hip bone, half of the decorated wood peeking out from the waistband of jeans. Although her fingers twitched he noticed that she didn't reach for her wand. He pressed his hand more firmly against her throat, watching with interest as she shifted her jaw and throat to accommodate the pressure but otherwise didn't move.

"Who are you?" His voice reverberated more gravelly than he was used to, his throat protesting against the movement as if it wasn't used to the action. Which led him to believe he had been out of commission for longer than he probably wanted to know.

Her chest shifted as she breathed in deeply. Her face was thrown in soft relief by the low warm glow of the light in the corner of the room. He could see her eyes shift as they cycled through a series of emotions. Uncertainty, confusion, sadness, and finally resolution. She licked her deep stained lips before focusing her eyes firmly in his.

"Hermione."

The push of Legilimency wasn't the most wholly unexpected thing that happened that evening. It was the rush of unfamiliar _memories_ that came after it.

—

_(down soft and sweet)_

"And you're here to.. change everything?" He shifted his weight back against the carved kitchen chair he was sitting in, his right arm slung across it's top as his left side was still sore from it's recovery from the bombarda spell. He leveled his eyes at the woman across from him. Her hands were firmly clasped in front of her, the back of her hand stark with scarring. He watched her long thick ringlets shift as she nodded her head, her body leaning forward.

Her voice was smooth and strong as she spoke and he briefly wondered how much of her he could equate to being like honey. "Yes. We- Everyone lost too much for it to be considered a victory." A gold chain slipped in-between her fingers as she took a breath. "I was.. I was too late for the Potters." The tinkling of broken metal sounded as she shifted her palms open. He watched as Hermione's eyes drifted to the empty crib behind him in the small English cottage they were settled in. "But it's still possible, to change the outcome. I just have to-"

"I'll help you." Sirius's right hand dropped his wand onto his lap as he moved to take one of her hands into his own. He brushes his thumb against the raised texture of her scars. She only nods and tightens her hands against his, not asking him how or why. She knows already.

—

_(crawl)_

The sunlight shifted through thin white curtains, catching on dust particles and casting hazy rainbows into his vision. He could finally feel warmth settled in his chest, a freeing feeling that he wasn't sure he'd felt before. The metal of his rings were warm on his fingers as his hand drew small inconsistent patterns on the soft skin under his fingertips.

Hermione's legs shift between his, she presses into his body more incessantly. As if she hadn't felt this light in ages, just like him. He'll reason that they'll keep each other grounded. He feels full and weightless as the same time. He doesn't question the feeling, nor the sweet taste that lingers in his entire soul. Sirius now knows her entire being is as sweet as honey.

His eyes shift from lazily tracking fuzzy dust particles, to the gentle slope of her body and the divots it posses, and past her halo of riotous dark curls. Instead he focuses on the dark and loose, but just as messy, curls in the crib across from them.

This will be their home.


End file.
